The Little White Shadow
by Soulfully Sadistic
Summary: She traverses the whiteness, looking for color, and warmth. Looking for something other than the constant white shadow of her frozen lands.


Chapter 1:

**God I'm such a hypocrite.**

Her favorite color is green.

The little white child decides that her favorite color is green.

It's a very rare color; most of what she can find is white.

But she picks up the little green sprout and puts it in her white hair. It is only a speck amongst the long, shaggy, alabaster.

But she likes it anyway.

It's cold, very cold, but it has always been cold and the child is so used to it that she barely feels the biting air anymore. She's bundled up in layers; her white shawl underneath a white sweatshirt underneath a white parka. White boots are upon her little feet, worn and loved from hundreds of years of trekking.

She treks to find someone.

She has found nobody.

The polar bear deposits her along a frozen river, and she thanks it. It is becoming harder and harder to find them these days, because so many of them are disappearing. It troubles her.

She huffs on her hands, like she has done so many times before, but she doesn't really need it anymore. The cold used to bother her. It doesn't anymore. Her hands are red and raw from all the biting, stinging air. It used to bother her. It doesn't anymore.

She uses her hands to part the ice to make room for water. The journey has been long, and she is thirsty. She savors the cold water running down her parched throat, because she knows it could be the last she could get for a long time.

She stands up once more, and takes small strides across the snow. Her feet make crunching and squelching sounds as they hit the frozen water.

All she sees is white. It is all she is used to. She has dreamed of seeing other colors, like green. She likes green. She likes blue, too. And yellow.

Then, at that very moment, she looks up and sees something. _Two_ somethings. They are not white.

She frowns in confusion. She hears sounds above the wind.

"Whoa, Canadia! What made you want to come out here? It's freezing!"

There's a response, but she can't hear it over the loud wind. But she knows it's there.

And suddenly she's running across the snow, toward the color. Her pants are becoming louder and her arms become wide. Her feet stomp harder into the snow and she trips and falls flat on her face. The voices are getting louder as they come nearer.

"Canada, did you hear that? There's someone else here!"

"Yeah, I heard. Probably some scientist."

She hears the words, but does not register them, as she hastily gets back on her feet and is running towards the color once more.

She can see brown. And red, and blue and violet and black it it al looks so _pretty_ and—

"America!" A soft voice can be heard. "This is a little kid!"

The little girl stands, panting, her face red, in front of the colorful people. She has to look up, because she is small and they are not. One kneels down and smiles softly, his face gentle. He holds out a hand to her. "What is your name?" he asks.

The girl looks uncertainly down at the hand, her breaths slowly calming and becoming quieter. She can see the vapor dissipate into the white sky.

The colorful man frowns slightly. "Are…are you Antarctica? The personification?"

The girl does not understand the rest of the words, but she recognizes, "Antarctica", the name of her country. _Her_ name. She closes her eyes for a second, letting the word roll through her mind, the tapping of the "t" and the click of the "c". "Antarctica," she says, nodding vigorously. "Yes."

The other man kneels down to her level as well. His face is glad, and happy, and warm. It makes her smile. He puts a hand on her head, ruffles her hair. "Hey," he says softly, "Do you wanna become our colony?"

Antarctica looks strangely at them, blinking as if she doesn't understand, because she doesn't. "Colony?" she intones, drawing out her vowels and closing her consonants with quick abruptness. It's an accent that America cannot place, but it is soft and child-like, as if she doesn't quite know how to speak yet.

Canada then notices the green little speck in the girl's hair. He reaches out, making to pull it out, but the girl lets out a short, quiet squeak and pulls back. She shakes her head. "No," she says softly, "Like green. I like green."

After a second of silence, America grins widely.

"If you come with us," he says persuasively, "You can have all the green you want."

**Hiya! Sorry I haven't updated my other stories; my aunt has come down with an immune disorder and I've been worried. I STILL plan to finish those, and this one too.**

**So in the meantime, please review!**


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